


Rex Et Regnum

by TheBitterKitten



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBitterKitten/pseuds/TheBitterKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a Victor doesn't mean you've won.<br/>OC, with cameos and guest stars as the story permits. Telling who would spoil the surprise :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Pride Ourselves On Our Excellent Customer Service

He leaned against the doorway of the Capitol bedroom, a clean white towel wrapped around his hips and a warm mug of tea in his hands. The cold light from the hallway narrowed into a long stream that flowed across the floor and bed. Within it, his long, thin shadow was trapped. He stared at it for a while, thinking of all the different philosophical implications. He shifted, and the track of light fell across a figure in the bed. A petite brunette was tangled in the sheets. Her cherub's face was placid in sleep, perfect lips just parted, glossy tendrils of hair curling about pinked cheeks and down a porcelain, sculpted back. She was better than most, a well-balanced mix of coquettish experience and blushing reticence that could be cajoled away.

After a moment, he shoved his body off of the doorjamb, set his steaming mug on a nearby dresser, and climbed into bed behind her.

"Glinter... Glinter, wake up." He whispered in his best seductive tone, his now-minty breath tickling her ear. She stirred, and he repeated her name. She mumbled something softly. Her eyes fluttered open and stared sleepily into his, her voice hoarse with sleep.  
"What time is it? I must have just drifted off, you wore me out. You brought me tea? How sweet! But it's still dark out..." She rolled onto her side and checked the clock. 0313 in the morning.

"What's going on, Annek?"

Still in his seductive voice, a honey-coated, rolling bass,

"You bought me for five hours, which started at 10 sharp. You're thirteen minutes over and running swiftly through your generous 20 minute grace period. You have seven minutes to find whatever clothes you had and leave, or my rates double, and payment is due immediately. Seeing as I have more money than I know what to do with, get out."

She stared at him dumbly, uncomprehending.

"Six minutes."

"What?...But Annek, I thought we were.. and all the things you said..." She fumbled for the right words, sleep robbing her of eloquence. She rubbed her eyes and ran fingers through her tangled hair, trying to focus.

"You mean like, 'I've never felt this way before', and 'You're different', and 'I could stare into your eyes forever'?" He pulled a mocking face with each phrase.

She gaped at him, plush lips forming a near-perfect little O. "But... but you brought me back here!"

"Five and a half minutes, " he said brightly, with a smile. Now he was a trainer, excitedly calling out times from a stopwatch.

He hit a small panel near the headboard and the overhead lights blazed to full intensity, making him squint and her shriek and cover her eyes with her hands, until he relented with a twinge of guilt and turned them down to a manageable level.

She scrambled out of bed, ripping the damp towel from him and clutching it to her dancer's body. She scurried here and there, trying to find her tunic, leggings, underthings and belt before her time ran out. Annek had tossed them all over the room out of spite. As she rushed, he lounged on the bed. Head propped up on one hand, hair dripping and skin damp from the shower he had luxuriated in, he watched her with a bitter smirk. Once found, she fumbled her way into her outfit. Dressed, she balled the stolen towel up and threw it at him. He caught it and returned it to its place over his hips.

"Oh look, two minutes left. I think that's a new record. Yaaaay for you," he said, giving her a thumbs up.

" What? I.. You...You're horrible! Besides, you seemed to be enjoying yourself! And what are you going on about a … a price?" There was an odd, stricken look to her face. She still hadn't quite woken up yet, and Annek was pushing his luck. Still, he pressed on.

"Business is business, doll, and I always have satisfied customers. Oh, and leave the tea, it's mine."

Glinter gave an indignant squeak as she flushed tomato red. She picked up the cup and threw it onto the cold slate, tea splashing everywhere, soaking into the sheets. She stomped out, carrying her sandals. She tried to slam the door, but the hinges were made for preventing just that, and the wide doors closed with a quiet, hissing click.

Annek rolled onto his back, listening as the elevator dinged outside in the landing. He was light as air, still nursing a significant buzz from the evening's party, nerves jazzed from evicting a Patron in such a disgraceful fashion. A small part of his mind told him this was a very bad idea and he'd be paying for it soon, but for now he was reveling in this one small victory. Once he was sure she was gone, he climbed out of the sea of a bed, swaying a little, and flicked on the light. He pulled on some shorts from a drawer in a stately teak bureau, and set to work stripping the bed of all the heavy silken linens. His mood dropped almost as quickly as it rose. He hated, hated that he had to do this in his own bed. The jacquard duvet, cream-colored and soft, came off, then the deep hunter green down comforter, the top sheet, and finally the fitted sheet. He gathered it all into two piles in the middle of the room. With plain cotton sheets a sullen blue, he painstakingly remade the bed. Fitted sheet, pillows, top sheet, comforter and duvet, with crisp corners and perfectly positioned pillows. He turned off the light, climbed in again, and lay where Glinter had dozed off, feeling her warmth seep from the mattress. He shifted to a cold spot. Sleep would not come. He stared at the blank white ceiling, the previous night playing through his head.

~ReR~

At yet another Capitol soiree, he milled with other Victors and the bigger names of Panem. President Coriolanus Snow, with his white rose, and more sick-sweet perfume than any self-respecting Capitol woman. He avoided him studiously. There was Isabella Trinket, an escort for one of the other Districts. He always confused her with her sister Effie, who was standing beside her. Both were bubbly and rather photogenic, but it was Isabella who had the seamless artifice necessary to cheerfully condemn young boys and girls to their near-certain deaths. Effie still had something of a soul, it seemed. In large doses, both were completely insufferable. He wandered to the far end of the marble hall. A few of the hairdressers, stylists and other support staff of the Games were there fact-finding, trying to see the new fashions for the unfortunate new tributes in the upcoming Games. One in particular caught his eye. He obviously wasn't from the Capitol, as he wasn't dressed like a fop. He was handling himself remarkably well as opposed to the other fresh blood, who were out of hand with too much good wine: missing the effluvia bins tastefully placed around the buffet table, laughing too loudly at each others' jokes, standing too close to whomever they were talking to, spilling things everywhere, thrashing wildly to the quartet playing. Annek sidled up beside him, and they were soon engrossed in conversation, where he learned the man was a new hairstylist by the name of Cinna.

"So, what made you get involved in this whole sorry mess of things?" Annek asked after a while. Cinna had proven to be an adept conversationalist, and it didn't seem like such a ...sane person could want to be face-to-face with murder on a yearly basis and the excesses of the Capitol on a daily one.

"Quite frankly, the fact that most of the Tributes never stand a chance because of their prep team butchering their first presentation. I aim to be a stylist in a few years to remedy that."

Annek was taken aback, and it showed. Chatting up the support meant hearing the same sick spiel about 'eyes for fashion', 'new perspectives' and 'the Games being just delightful'. He never stayed to hear the rest.

"Of course, I have quite the eye for fashion, and I think these Games are the new runways of Panem." Cinna added, with a wink.

Annek had to laugh, and decided this hairdresser was one to watch. They watched the partiers, taking bets about who was going to commit what faux pas next. In spite of himself, Annek was beginning to enjoy the party, even if Cinna was making a tidy sum off of him.

Soon, however, he heard, or rather smelled, President Snow behind him. He turned quickly, smile in place. Snow was holding a glass of something that looked like champagne, but Annek couldn't tell.

"My dear Annek Alda." He had to raise his voice a bit to be heard over the din nearby, and they shifted a few paces away. Cinna took his leave with practiced ease, toasting Annek and melting back into the crowd.

"President Snow, how kind to grace me with your presence." His voice was carefully controlled.

"There's a guest here by the name of Glinter White, and you're just smitten with her."

"Is this a lasting love, or just for the weekend?" Annek felt his face harden, and he did nothing to stop it. The smile stayed put, though.

"At least five hours, preferably all of tomorrow." He sipped his champagne and winced slightly, never taking his eyes off of the boy in front of him.

"We'll see where the night takes us." He said it flippantly, swirling the wine in his glass, not deigning to look up.

"I trust you will, Annek." Snow stared him down until Annek couldn't not look at him any longer, dragging his eyes up to meet Snow's rheumy gaze. He nodded, more of a jerk than actual agreement, and in a waft of nauseating stench, President Snow oozed off to another Victor, setting up the deals like so many appointments. It was a bit odd that the President himself took part in this seedy enterprise with such apparent relish, but Annek assumed with all of Panem in thrall and under his thumb, there wasn't much else to do.

He drained his glass of port, set it on the tray carried by a tuxedoed Avox, and grabbed another with a polite nod. He looked around the room for someone who would have the silly District One name of Glinter. At least Four had proper names.

After sauntering and schmoozing his way around the hall, which was no small matter and took about an hour, he saw the last group of likely girls, a gaggle of socialites teetering on the edge of gluttony and drunkenness. He watched out of the corner of his eye, in a meaningless conversation with a sympathetic Victor.

"Look, Glinter, there he is! Go say hi!" A tall, statuesque girl with a literal waterfall of glossy platinum blonde hair said, smiling at him from behind a long, manicured hand with nails as sharp as talons. So 'Glinter' wasn't blondie.

"Shut up and stop staring, Shine! He'll see!" The shorter brunette punched the blonde in the arm, frantically glancing over at him. Annek breathed a small sigh of relief as he pretended to laugh at a joke. At least she took care of herself, unlike his last.

He drained half the glass of wine, nodded a goodbye to Jacques, who raised his glass in solidarity, and slid over. "So, who are we stalking? He better be cute."

Glinter gave a shrill squeak of excitement. Annek hid clenched teeth with a smile, praying that that wasn't a habit of hers. "You, actually. Hi, uh, Mr. Alda, um, I'm Glinter White, and this is Shine, and this is Frill, and this is Ruffle, and this is Silk..." She rattled off her friends' names, and he tuned out until she was done.

"It's so nice to meet you all. Please, call me Annek." He held Glinter's gaze and her hand for two seconds longer than he should have.

They all chattered away for a while, and despite his best efforts, he learned that Glinter was a descendant of the Victor of one of the single-digit Games. Her family had made the move to the Capitol soon after she was born. She was eighteen, and today was her birthday. Eventually, her friends found ways to escape until it was just the two of them. He looked her over. Petite, dressed to the nines in the latest. Ancient Rome was in vogue, with goddess gowns and leather skirts for all. A blinding white toga-tunic with an intricate silver brooch, silver leggings, and gilded sandals crisscrossing her feet. Her chocolate hair was interwoven with silver i-cord, swept back, with bouncy ringlets framing her face.

"Do... do you like the view?" She giggled coyly.

"Quite a bit actually. Just look at the Capitol, sprawling at our feet. Tonight, the world is ours." He turned melodramatically towards the wall of glass overlooking the city, a modern sea of multicolored lights.

"But it can't compare to the one right in front of me..." He said softly, rolling his eyes at his own overwrought speech.

She giggled again, putty in his hands. He was getting a bit irritated by it.

The conversation followed a similar vein, until he finally suggested they find someplace a little more private. He decided to take her on what he called the Grand Tour, which he had carefully scripted some time ago to make it easier on himself.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, knowing the answer. It was always "I could eat."

"Well, there's plenty here..." The uncertain response.

"I mean, doll, let's go find something more substantial than party food. I want you to myself for a while." He stared deeply into her starstruck eyes, willing himself to feel sensual. He consoled himself with the fact that she was rather pretty, and closer to his age than most. A little young for him yet, but he wasn't about to complain. Not after Kitty and her ancient skin so frail it felt like paper.

"Oh!" She was caught off-guard, double meaning finally sinking in. "Oh... is there any place open this late at night?" The restaurants on the boulevard stayed open well into the wee hours on Party Nights specifically for this purpose, but there was no need for her to know that.

"Probably, and if not, we could always... order in."

"The second one sounds like fun, let's do that!"He was taken aback.

He led her on a circuitous route, stopping at the roof and hoping for inspiration from the night cityscape. Little was forthcoming.

They were silent for a while, taking in the sight and breeze, when Glinter spoke quietly, almost more to herself, full of reedy emotion.

"You know, I watched your Game, and I was rooting for you the whole time, from the very beginning. I even got my parents to pay for the extra footage of you. I mean, they kept switching away from you to focus on the other Tributes and I was so worried for you when-"  
"Glinter, doll, the Games are for discussing at a later time. They're not as interesting as you, but I'm... terribly flattered you cared for me that much." He fixed his gaze on the horizon and gripped the low stone wall. He tried to talk himself into it, convince himself he wanted her, but he felt nothing besides boredom and slight irritation. He wondered what Meghan was up to. Probably having dinner with her husband. He wasn't really sure what she did when she wasn't with him, planning his appearances and costumes.

"And now I'm here with you, on the roof of the Tower, and I'm so happy." She was right next to him now, and looked up at him through her lashes, pressing her hips into his thigh, running a small hand up his side, letting it rest on his waist. He let her, forcing himself to stand still. He turned to look at her, and gave in. With trembling hands, he stroked one rosy apple cheek and pulled her into a kiss, fighting the urge to break it and shove her away when she clung to him like peanut butter on the roof of his mouth. He hated the taste of her lipstick. Whatever brand it was was waxy and bitter, masked with too much fake blueberry flavoring. He wished he had more wine. It was always a little easier with wine.

~ReR~

0445 am. He slammed his head against the yielding pillow, ran a hand angrily through his mussed hair, threw off the too-hot linens. Padding softly on the freezing gray slate, he returned to the shower. Stripping off his boxers, he set the temperature as high as the computer would allow and stepped in. He supposed it was the added barb that he paid his dues for fame and fortune (as President Snow so euphemistically called it) in his own room, where he had to sleep. Never mind his dues were the slaughter of the twenty-three other tributes in the 59th Hunger Games, six by him. It was always there, just under the surface. Inescapable. The water was a degree shy of scalding, turning his tan skin a mottled red, stinging and smarting on the long scratches lovingly left by Glinter.

His life was over. He was twenty-one, and his life was over. Not that it was much of one to begin with, but still. He was a murderer of tribute and citizen alike. Directly responsible for the deaths of eleven people. Three were his family and friends. And two... He fell heavily against the long wall of the shower, sliding against the heated tile to the floor. He held his head in his hands. Curled against the wall in a miserable heap, he stayed there, hot water surrounding him, long after the shower stopped and the computer beeped the end of the cycle.


	2. Oh Hi, I Didn't See You There

Frill met up with Glinter the next day for lunch, an afternoon of shopping, and all the sordid details of last night. They were settled in a window booth (the better to be seen) in a posh deli off the main drag downtown.  
Glinter glared at Frill over her garden salad. “I'm not going to tell you. It was stupid.”  
“Are you kidding me? Glint, you spent the night with Annek Alda! Your life-long crush! How is that stupid?” Frill’s normally nasal voice was even more pronounced with her irritation.  
“Because he's a stupid, stuck-up idiot and I hate him and he should have died in his Games.” She stabbed a tomato with her fork, pretending it was his fat face.  
“What? He was crazy about you last night...”  
“Yeah, well, he was faking. Or something. He was just weird. And stupid.”  
“Oh, come on. You can't give me something juicy like that and just stop, that's so district. Tell!” Frill's eyes were bright with interest.  
Glinter sighed, and sipped her melon water. “Fine. But you can't tell anyone, alright? I'm still completely mortified.”  
“Not a soul.” Frill pretended to zip her lips and toss the key.

“So, after you all left -thanks, by the way- he starts in on how pretty I am, and he hasn't met a girl like me, and just really sweet stuff. And then he's all 'I wanna get to know you' and 'let's go somewhere alone'. So we walk around for a while, and end up in his rooms. He has like, an entire floor to himself. We have this huge seafood dinner. Everything you can imagine. Lobster, crab, seabass, salmon, sushi, oysters. Everything, even sea cucumbers. I had to throw up twice, and it was amazing. So then we go into his bedroom, and -ugh!- it’s gorgeous. I'd totally decorate mine like that, if he hadn't gone and ruined everything. Now I can't even see teak and chrome without thinking of his stupid face.”  
She paused and took a dainty bite of her salad, watching Frill, who was eating out of her hand. Perched on the edge of her seat, she leaned in. “So? You had dinner, then what?”  
“Well, then we.. you know.” She blushed and giggled and looked down at her salad.  
“How was he?”  
“Way better than Harrick. I'm getting shivers just thinking about his fingers,” She whispered conspiratorially.  
“Then what's the problem? He likes you, you're crazy about him, you had a good time...” Frill searched Glinter's face for an answer.  
“He wakes me up at friggin' three in the morning and tells me to get out or I have to pay him double or something. He acted like everything was a big, fat joke or whatever and just kicks me out! I had to call Daddy at three in the morning to send an Avox to come get me. I mean, I was so glad the party was still on, or I just wouldn't have gone home and said I'd been with you. I feel like such an idiot for believing him.” Glinter flipped her hair with the back of her hand, still nonplussed at her callous dismissal.  
“Wow. I didn't know they were so strict on the end. I would have gotten you more time if I'd known. He didn't seem like he'd be so rude, though. Weird. I guess I'll have to complain.” Instead of scandalized, Frill looked thoughtful.  
Glinter looked up sharply. “What the hell are you talking about, Frill?” She was more than a bit irritated her woeful tale was met with such apathy.  
“Well, I didn't want to tell you until later, but the girls and I wanted to give you something good for your birthday, and we decided to give you your crush. He cost a literal fortune, too. We had to give them like, 5,000 gold just for the night. Did you know that some rich losers rent the Victors out for weeks on end, just to have company? It's crazy.”  
“You... you bought him?”  
“Well, rented is more like it, but yeah.” Frill sipped her lemonade through the swirly straw.  
Glinter was silent, stunned.  
“Don't tell me you didn't know...” Frill had the upper hand, and she was gloating, a smile spreading across her face.  
“No, Frill, I didn't know that you basically paid him to sleep with me! God, I feel like such a fool.” Glinter turned beet red. She pushed her salad away and hid her face in her hands, turning as red as the nail polish she wore.  
“Oh, honey, don't feel bad.” Frill laid a hand on her arm, neon pink glitter tips twinkling softly. “He probably likes you better than some ancient cow making him walk her dogs or something. And anyway, I'll complain. That's not how it's supposed to go down, I've heard.”  
“Have you ever...?” Glinter was curious.  
“Rented a Victor? Oh god, no. He's cute, but it's way too expensive. We could only afford him because we pooled up our gift money. And saved for half a year. Because we expect similarly big things for our birthdays! Mine's in three months, better start soon.” She ended with a laugh, but Glinter was sure she was serious.  
“So how did you find out about renting them? It's so.. I don't know, skeevy.” Glinter looked uncomfortable.  
“Shine overheard her dad talking about it with someone from his board a while back. Basically, you talk to Alyssa, who works the front desk at the Tower, and she takes the requests, I guess. They sign themselves up for it, though, so don't feel bad. Alyssa told me that most of them have spent themselves silly after winning the Games because they come from the Districts and don't really know what to do with themselves. So they do it to keep up the lifestyle. It's kinda sad, actually.”  
“He only won two years ago, how could he have spent everything so fast?”  
“He is from District Four...”  
“True.”

The waitress stopped by and refilled their glasses. “Can I get you two anything?”  
“No, we're fine. Just the check.” Glinter turned back to Frill. “You know what? I'm gonna go see him.”  
“Glint, um, I don't think that's how it works...” Frill was trying to find a tactful way to discourage Glinter, but words were never her strong point.  
“I know where his rooms are. I just want to see if he's really like how he was last night, or if he remembers my name or anything. Who knows, maybe I’ll get your money back. Or an apology.” She smirked.  
“Well, then, I'm gonna go get that dress we looked at. I'll be waiting for you near the Fountain, but don't do anything stupid. He probably has a ton of fangirls trying the same thing, and if you get caught, I've never seen you before.”

Glinter scribbled her father's name and account number on the bill and left. They walked out into the bright afternoon sun and went their separate ways.

~ReR~

Annek woke up shivering in a puddle of icy water to the quiet rustlings of the Avox picking up towels and the cast off clothing from last night on the other side of the bathroom. Stiff all over, and in the shower. His head throbbed painfully with every move, and he felt a rush of vertigo as he sat up. His throat was painfully dry and his teeth felt like they were covered in thick, sour wool. He spat bile, half-expecting dust. He went through this after every party, and every time he promised himself never again. He stumbled to his feet, nearly knocking over the glass of water the Avox had set on the lip of the shower, and punched in the code for a painkiller and a shot of vodka on the bathroom's console. Nothing like the hair of the dog that bit you. The screen dinged. **Error 34C9: Alcohol contraindicated with opioids. Please revise your request and enter again.** No harm in trying, he supposed. He sighed, and reentered the painkiller. Aiming for a bureau, he tripped on the pile of bedsheets in the middle of the floor and landed with a thud on his face, bare skin skidding across the slate. The Avox came running from the bath, terror written across his face. Annek groaned and waved him off.  
“Don't worry, it's my fault. Just keep on, yeah?”  
Relief flooded the gaunt man. He rushed back to the bath to finish and swiftly made his escape. Annek lay there for a good several minutes, hoping the throbbing would ease, then picked himself up slowly, noting minor scrapes and the quickly forming dark purple-gray bruise under his right eye. Perhaps it was time to change to some softer flooring. He slipped on underwear, a pair of silk pajama pants, and some ridiculously fuzzy slippers to warm his feet. He shuffled over to the kitchen, where he found a newly-present pill and fresh glass of water. He checked the clock: 1500. He was making better-than-average time today; usually it was at least 1545 before he woke up. The only good thing about party nights was he had the next day to himself to recover. Mustn't look drained or peaked, after all. He tried to remember the events, and realized with a suddenly sinking stomach that yes, he really did curse a blue streak and throw a Patron out on her bum in a drunken fit of pique, and no, he hadn't invited her back in.

He had made a big mistake last night. So big it was like a deep burn: he didn't feel anything yet, didn't recognize the pain, but it was coming, and more than he could imagine. Everything was supposed to be as if it were natural. No surprise reveal, no evictions. Even though both people knew what was going on, he had to keep up the pretense. If that girl complained, he'd be in for a world of hurt, especially since he was still, after a year, on probation from the first one. How could he have been so stupid? He stuffed the thought to the back of his mind as he washed the pill down with cool water. Time would tell, and there was precious little he could do about it now.  
He checked the calendar. Tomorrow he had an interview with Caesar Flickerman, part of a series on the Victors. “Behind the Arena: Life after the Games”. He sighed again. Should be painless, if tedious. Similar title, same questions every year.

Quick, soft knocks on the door startled him. Avoxes didn't knock. They were supposed to be all but invisible. And “his” had already come and gone. He wasn't expecting any visitors, not that there were many people he cared to see. Anyone important came with a 15-minute lead for him to compose himself. He snuck from the kitchen to the door, more curious than paranoid. He opened it, looked around. Shock slowly overtook curiosity, and he slammed the door, which closed quietly despite the considerable force behind it. He crossed to the closet, pulled on a plain cotton shirt, kicked off his slippers and returned to the living room. His mind raced. The girl from last night? Why was she here? Did she forget something? He looked around. He didn't see anything feminine or not-his. If she had complained, she wouldn't be here, Snow or Alyssa would. How did she even get past security? Hell, how did she even remember which floor was his? Did he misremember the time he had to spend? No, it was just for a few hours. He remembered that part clearly enough, even if the rest was dim. He wondered for a while, until it came to him that she was probably still standing outside. He glanced around, kicked the pile of sheets from last night into the gargantuan closet and closed the door. He checked himself in the mirror (presentable, if water-logged) and ran over. He cracked the door, and she was still there, staring confusedly at him. 

“Um, hi?” His words were quick from nerves.  
“Hi...” she replied, uncertain.  
“This, uh... this may come as an obvious question, but what are you doing here, exactly?” He blinked.  
“I... well...” She fumbled for words, and looked up as his eyes searched her face. “I want the truth about last night.”  
Annek closed the door again, and cursed under his breath. One of these again. Mistook spending the night with him as a sign they were written in the stars as lovers or some drivel. He had to fix his stupidity from last night, though. He gathered himself, resigned to the fact his (well-earned) lazy day was gone.  
He swung the door wide open, and miming a butler, ushered her in with a bow and a smile.  
“Then the truth you'll have. Do come in.”  
She hesitated for a moment, and then walked into the living room. He gestured to a plush armchair, and she plopped down, carefully smoothing her skirt as she crossed her legs, her flip-flop slapping rhythmically against her heel. At least she was anxious too. He took the one across the low coffee table.  
After a few awkward pleasantries, he steeled himself again.

“What truth are you dying to know?” The question hung in the air for a long moment.  
“What... why did you do what you did? And my friend told me about buying you, so I want the real truth, not whatever you're supposed to say.” She asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer, it seemed.

He was silent for quite a while, mulling over the choices. He could tell her the whole truth. That he was bought and sold like so much meat to whoever came up with enough crumpled bills to line Snow's formidable pockets. That he did so under threat of his loved ones being slaughtered at the first hint of reluctance or rebellion. That it had happened once before, and he had no intention of repeating those terrible days.  
“Well?”  
He swallowed hard. “Because, doll, fossilized ivory inlaid into pure marble and traced with 24 karat gold costs truly heinous amounts of money, and I am a slave to fashionable things.” He willed her to buy the lie.  
“Bull.” His heart sank.  
“What, you don't believe me? I don't look like a couture hound?” He held her gaze as he opened his arms and gestured to their surroundings.  
“Stop it. If you were so in love with fossilized gold or whatever, you could buy it. You told me you had more money than you knew what to do with. So I'm giving you one last chance to tell me why you're selling yourself, or I'm going to complain.” She pursed her lips and folded her arms.  
“A mind for details. Intriguing.” He was nearly in a full-on panic, casting about how he could salvage this. Of all the stupid patrons he had to piss off, it was the one who wouldn't shut up until she got what she wanted.  
He took a deep breath, resigned to his fate.  
“It's easier if you go blow-by-blow if you want my reasons for things. The evening is a bit fuzzy. I'll tell you as much as I can.” He could really, really use a drink about now.

“Why did you pick me?” An easy enough question to begin with.  
“Because I was told to.”  
“What did you think when you found me?”  
“You could have been worse, and I was glad it wasn't your blonde friend.”  
“You mean Frill? What's wrong with Frill?” Glinter's girlish ire for her friend sparked, and he held up his hands in protest.  
“Nothing's wrong with Frill, I just don't usually spring for blondes.” He mentally kicked himself. This wouldn't be nearly as hard if he would just stop shoving his foot in his mouth with every sentence.

“Did you feel anything at all? Or was everything an act?” He stifled a groan. Everyone assumed that theirs was magic and when they woke up in the morning, he’d be in sopping wet love with them and forget all about how they'd paid good money to sleep with him.

“Most of it was an act.” He blurted the words in exasperation before he could couch it in flattery.

“Then what parts weren't?” She took it in stride and he was caught off guard, struggling to come up with an answer.  
“Well... you're not a dull shag.” While true, it was not the sort of flattery she was looking for, and it showed.  
“...Oh.”  
“And... I mean, you're intelligent and can hold a conversation, and you are -really- flexible, so the evening was rather enjoyable, all things considered.” He fought the urge to smack himself, willing his head to stop throbbing so he could think clearly and make it out of this alive. 

She seemed satisfied that he labeled her as a cut above the rest, and settled back into her chair, allowing her skirt to ride up, showing him a flash of neon blue. Annek stared steadfastly at her face. 

“So, who was your best?” Sooner or later, it always came back to how they measured up, and he knew he was home free.  
“That, to respect the privacy of my very generous patrons, I will not divulge.” He wasn't supposed to name names, and regardless, it was all one sorry mess he didn't want to dignify by ranking.  
“Tell me, or I'll complain!” He wondered vaguely if she would throw a fit if he egged her on enough, but he reigned himself in.  
“Listen, uh, Glisten, you can complain all you like, but I can't tell you.”  
“Glint **er** ,” she corrected. 

“Right, sorry. But you really should go. I've got meetings all day and I'm already late.” He stood up, and she followed suit, tugging down her skirt. “And please don't show up unannounced again. It's not wise.” There was nothing against it, but the last thing he wanted was for this to become a routine. 

“I'm sorry Annek, but I had to know.” She looked appropriately contrite.  
“I understand. I hope you'll forgive my rudeness last night. You're a lovely girl and I was completely out of line.”  
He was warming up to the task now, finally slipping into his public face. 

“You're forgiven. Just don't do it again.” She smiled coyly, and looked at him from beneath her lashes.  
This was not the response he was looking for. 

As she walked out the door, she paused, then turned back and threw her arms around him. He froze for a long second, then gingerly hugged her back, not knowing what else to do. She broke the embrace and hurried out the door as he stared after her.  
Annek closed the door, then leaned on it, running a hand across his forehead. The stress combined with the hangover was creating a fearful migraine, already breaking through the feeble wall of the first pill. His vision was beginning to swim and pinpricks of light flashed. The small reserve of energy he had was utterly drained, and he felt himself beginning to sweat. He should probably eat something, but he didn’t have the stomach for it. He ordered another painkiller, drew the light-blocking shades and crawled under the clean, heavy sheets.   
  
So much for today.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you stick around.


End file.
